guess I'm
just as glad to be born plain United States."

The first part of that statement was listened to closely enough by both
men; the last sentence or two, for all that it was heartfelt and
sincere, was lost upon them both. And Steve's mirth was even more
hysterical than was that of Garry Devereau.

"Honey!" he panted. "Now isn't that a wonder? Joe, you're too good!
You are altogether too good to be wasted on these timbered solitudes.
Men pay two dollars a seat, Joe, to hear performers work who are rank
amateurs in comparison with you."

The riverman's eyes grew belligerent.

"Funny, is it? So awful funny! Well, perhaps you think I can't read
plain print yet, never havin' enjoyed a liberal education. But take a
look for yourself."

He pulled up a pile of newspapers which had come in since their
absence, sorted out one that was creased open, and handed it to Steve.
It was an announcement of Barbara Allison's engagement to the Hon.
Archibald Wickersham--that column to which Fat Joe had folded the
sheet--a many-days-old announcement, now. But the smile did not even
stiffen upon Steve's lips. The picture which accompanied it was a poor
one, heavy-shadowed and smeared and lacking in detail, yet Barbara's
face was unmistakable. The room became quiet. In that hush Garry
realized that Joe's mistaken translation of the title had not been, as
Joe had himself suggested, due to lack of knowledge, but to a desire to
apprise his employer, delicately, of that which he believed was still
news to him. And yet, from the easy way in which he read it, word for
word, Garry was positive that all this which the New York daily
blazoned forth with its customary mixture of snobbishness and vulgarity
was no longer news to Steve. The latter's eyes lifted and dwelt long
upon Fat Joe's face.

"So that's where you got it, was it, Joe?" he asked evenly. "You make
it 'Honey,' do you? And when do they come in, Joe?"

"To-morrow night. One of the teamsters brought word this afternoon,
just before you got back. Honey is going to have a look at his trees
and things, the way I understand it. And the rest of them, I take it,
want to look us over in our wild state. Where are we going to put them
girls?"

Steve's answer was long in coming.

"Miss--Allison?" he wanted to know.

"--and her maid," Joe corrected promptly. "Her maid, Cecile. She's
comin', too, and that tall, red-headed one. I don't remember her name?"

As st